The Last Resort
by Talchum
Summary: Oneshot. Introspective. Kabuto stumbles upon a dying nin, and reflects on a lost childhood... If you don't blink you'll see a glimpse of Orochamaru.


**Kabuto is probably the most fascinating character in Naruto and we know almost NOTHING of him and his past! Oro describes him as having a very twisted mind, but then he turns around and shows humanity by saving Hinata and Sakura's life. What's up with that? Ahh, it just adds to his complexity.** **So Kabuto stumbles upon a man dying, and while healing him reflects on his own past with his father...**

* * *

He didn't know what circumstances surrounded the ninja that left him near death by the river. Apparently a fight had ensued, but the only remnants of the battle was of the Shinobi himself, his lower body laying in the river, his upper on land, as if he had just washed up. He was covered in blood, most of it dried on. His shirt was torn from the stab wounds that littered his body. His face was covered in dirt and blood. It darkened his skin to a maroon color. In all appearances from afar, the man was dead. But as Kabuto approached he could hear the shallow, labored breathing coming from the stranger's chest. Still alive. Even after such an obvious assault the man clung to life. 

Kabuto grabbed him underneath his arms and dragged him fully onto the land. He knelt beside the man, carefully examining the wounds. Whoever had stabbed him had done it with ferocity. The tissue was torn away, and the man's intestines were partially spilling out. He was bad, but needless to say, the medic nin had seen and healed worse.

Kabuto did some hand signs, and laid his hands over the man's chest, not quite touching it. They glowed with chakra that slowly seeped into the wounds, intricately weaving together torn tissue and clotting the blood. Kabuto closed his eyes, lost in meditation.

He could feel the Shinobi's pulse vibrating his chakra. It was weak and thready...

"Kabuto..."

A familiar voice. Memories of him always approached at moments like these. It was only when he was in this meditative state that he could truly remember his face.

"Kabuto..."

Any other time, it was always a frustrating blur.

"Otousama..."

His father's face was smiling. His eyes twinkled. They were in the hospital, standing over an unconscious ninja. They held their hands over the patient, soft blue rays of chakra emitting from them. "Kabuto, you learn so quickly. By myself I don't think I would have been able to save this man's life. But with you, he will live to fight another day."

Kabuto was little more than five years old. Praise like that was the type of praise that would engrave itself on a little one's psyche. His heart swelled with pride, and he concentrated harder. "Arigato, Otousama!" he said, and closed his eyes, allowing the chakra to make its way through the patient.

But this was not the patient in the hospital. The pulse continued to be thready, and the stridor showed no signs of relenting. As he had done that day in the hospital he concentrated harder, unconsciously shutting his eyes tighter.

"Why did you choose to become a surgeon, otousama?" Kabuto had asked one day. He turned eight years old that day. And as was their custom his father had taken him out to the field known as Kikyo Pass. He told Kabuto the same story he told once a year for the last seven years. That after the battle was over and the smoke had cleared it was he who had seen the white haired baby sitting in the middle of the field, a helmet laying in between his chubby legs.

He never pondered what a baby was doing in the middle of fighting grounds. And it didn't matter to him that at the time he was approaching fifty. "You called out to me." was all he would say about why he decided to adopt the survivor.

"Why did I choose to become a surgeon." His father mused. He was much older, and though in relatively good health, he had slowed down quite a bit. The years of combat and being on the field was slowly, but surely, wearing him down. He sat with one knee bent and an elbow resting on it. Beside him, Kabuto sat indian style, picking at the blades of grass. "I wouldn't say it's something I chose to do. It's something I was born into." Otousama turned, and looked at his son. "When you see someone hurt, what do you feel, Kabuto?"

Kabuto continued to pick at the grass, his eyes downcast. "Well..." he hated silly questions like these. "I guess I like to help them." it embarrassed him to answer it.

His father chuckled. "I think your desire to help is stronger than mine. Kabuto..." the boy raised his head, meeting his father's gaze.

"I'm proud of you, my son."

The pulse, was fading, the breathing was becoming even more shallow. His heart beat was slowly and steadily decreasing. Kabuto sighed. He moved his hands, performing a different set of hand signs, and held it over the fallen Shinobi.

This time his chakra worked in a different way.

While attending the Academy, Kabuto did not socialize well with his peers. From a young age, he was always the loner. In response to this his father had brought home a dog, that became the young medical nin's closest companion. It was when Kabuto was ten that he realized the dog was slowly dying. Seeing the animal laying in the shade, panting its last breath, Kabuto had gone outside. He crouched over the pet, his hands over it, trying in quiet desperation to bring it back from the brink.

"Kabuto," he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

"Otousama," the boy turned halfway. "If you help me I think we can save him."

His father walked to the other side, and crouched down. He eyed the animal, quickly assessing it's condition. Finally he sighed, and reaching out, he grabbed his son's hands.

"Otousama!" Kabuto cried out angrily. "What are you doing? I need your help!"

He moved his son's hands away. "Not everyone can be saved. Sometimes we come upon lives that _we_ want to heal... but _they_ are ready to die." He made a string of hand signs and put them over the dog. "So if they are ready to go... What is left for them?"

"Death." Kabuto said dryly. He was hurting. It wasn't just the approaching loss of a friend that pained him. It was that for the first time, he realized, he was unable to heal. For the first time he felt helpless against a power that was greater than his own.

"No..." his father's head was down, lost in concentration. Kabuto could not see the look on his face as he quietly spoke. "Comfort."

It was a few days later that his Otousama was killed while on a mission. And then another year before he met a puppet master that would forever change his life. He had blocked out the memory of when he heard of his father's death, and any first meeting of Sasori was also absent. But for some reason the moment with his father, and the dying dog, resonated in his mind like it had just happened.

Kabuto opened his eyes. The dying Shinobi had turned, and was looking at the medic nin. Kabuto could not read the expression on his face, but he saw that the pain the stranger was in was dissipating, until it was almost completely alleviated.

"It's all I can do." Kabuto said softly.

The man mouthed something that could not be understood.

Slowly his lips curved, into what Kabuto could only construe as a final smile.

* * *

Orochamaru came stalking up with his new student, Sasuke, in tow. The two dark haired ninjas looked at Kabuto, who was standing with his back to them, and then down at the dead ninja. 

"Your doing, Kabuto?" Sasuke asked flatly.

There was a moment of quiet. "No." he said. "He was already dead when I got here."

"Too bad we arrived so late," Orochamaru stated in his usual gleeful tone. "It looks like it was a fight worth watching." He walked off, without a second glance, following the river. Sasuke hesitated, eyeing Kabuto suspiciously, and then walked away, following his teacher.

Kabuto turned his head, watching his two companions.

"Otousama..." Kabuto whispered. His eyes softened. In his mind his father's face, just a moment ago so clear, now faded away into the crevices of his memory.

"Would you be proud of me now?"

* * *

**Yeah, Kabuto is OOC, but I had to make a point. There are so many stories out there about mercy killings I wanted to try to go a different direction. Palliative care is SO underrated.**

**Please review, I eat them up like candy:)**


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